


Party in the Front Seat

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Getting Together, Kinda, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed, also, ask to tag, i have a dislocated knee, i need more mustafa/tony in my life, im probably forgetting something but (shrug), listen the luchas love each other and i love them, so this is what i did in gym
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Something always goes wrong. They travel so much and there’s so many variables that there’s bound to be a mistake. Usually it’s something small; one room too few or too many, someone getting a suite they’re not supposed to have, a car breaking down, fights breaking out and driving arrangements changing.It’s never been this bad before.Or, the one where the cruiserweights share a room and Ariya has a gay crisisBased on a post by nogooddeanambrose on tumblr.





	Party in the Front Seat

Something always goes wrong. They travel so much and there’s so many variables that there’s bound to be a mistake. Usually it’s something small; one room too few or too many, someone getting a suite they’re not supposed to have, a car breaking down, fights breaking out and driving arrangements changing.

It’s never been this bad before.

They’ve been on the road for 4 hours when five different cars break down within 7 miles of each other, leaving almost all of the cruiserweights stranded in a dead-end town in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. A tow truck can’t get them until the next day, so they call the higher ups to try and find out what to do.

They’re told to stay there, get some rooms for the night, and wait it out. They have enough time before filming in a nearby city that they can afford to take the time.  The town they’re in is so small, it turns out, that there’s one hotel.

That’s when things really go to shit.

All the single rooms are taken. They have one suite that _might_ fit all of them. There’s fourteen of them, and there’s no way this could work.

But they’re out of options.

They book the room and lug their stuff to the fifth floor. The suite is surprisingly large, and it looks like it hasn’t been used in years. There’s a fine layer of dust settled on top of the nightstand, and the pillows are starting to deflate. That’s where another problem arises.

There’s only one king bed.

Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but there are 14 large, muscular men trying to share this room. Ariya is about two seconds from ripping his hair out and sleeping in the car.

They quickly work out sleeping arrangements; Kalisto, Metalik, and Lince take the bed along with Tozawa. Alexander, Neville and Dar take the couch and armchairs that sit against the walls. Perkins calls the bathtub. Kendrick quickly refuses to stay in the room, choosing to camp out in the backseat of the car. That took a few minutes; what took forever was everyone else.

Even with those situated, there was still Gulak, Gallagher, Ali, Nese, and Daivari. After several hours of arguing, almost fighting, and complaining, they resign to sleep on the floor.

They call the front desk and ask for as many pillows and thick comforters and blankets as they can get. They fashion a bed out of the comforters, trying to cushion from the hard floor. The blankets go next, and the pillows are strewn about to be within reach.

It takes far too long for Ariya to fall asleep. He’s painfully aware of everything in the room. Neville’s snoring, Perkins is thumping around in the bathtub, Lince’s speaking Spanish in his sleep, and Akira is mumbling something unintelligible in a mix of English and Japanese. He can hear the bed creaking as Metalik and Kalisto toss and turn, and Dar is restlessly twisting around on the couch. Ali and Nese are right next to him, Ali draped over the more muscular man, his shoulder pressed to Ariya’s. Gulak is keeping his distance, but his foot is pressed to Ariya’s shin. His feet are cold.

The worst part is Gallagher.

He has an arm tossed across Ariya’s chest and a leg tangled with his own. His head is pillowed against Ariya’s shoulder, his mustache tickling in the worst way. He’s not snoring, but it’s close, a heavy breathing that huffs past his lips and warms Ariya’s skin.

Worst of all, Ariya can’t bring himself to push Gallagher away.

Instead, he settles a hand on the Brit’s back, tucks Gallagher’s head under his chin, and lets out the breath he’s been holding intermittently since they turned in for the night. He finally falls asleep when he feels the soft flutter of Gallagher’s lips against the soft skin of his chest.

He wakes up with a crick in his neck and his right arm asleep. There’s a weight spread across his chest, and there’s noise from all sides. The sunlight is fighting through the thin curtains, streaming right into his face.

He turns over, sliding the weight to lay next to him. He nuzzles into the heat of the blankets and the body next to him, letting out a small sound as he stretches. After a few minutes, he manages to peel his eyes open.

He’s looking directly as Gallagher’s face.

He scrambles backwards, wrenching himself from the older man’s grasp. It startles Jack awake, and the Brit looks genuinely hurt before he pulls his face into a mask of demure emotionlessness.

Ariya is loosely aware of Noam’s sticky laughter from the edge of the room, but he’s too preoccupied with untangling the covers from his legs and swallowing down his panic to care. He finally manages to yank his legs free and he storms out of the room.

There’s a small breakfast area attached to the lobby. He decides to try and calm down there, thinking some food and coffee might settle his stomach. He’s still wearing his pajamas and his keffiyeh is up in the room but he doesn’t care and he’s certainly not going back for it right now.

He shakily pours a cup of coffee and snatches an apple before dumping his weight into one of the chairs at a table pushed into the corner. He drinks his coffee black, hoping the bitterness and scalding heat can snap him out of whatever’s settled over him. The apple feels gritty under his teeth and there’s a few too many brown spots but he eats it anyway.

Several minutes into the time he spends staring into his empty cup and debating what his life has come too, someone clears their throat next to him. When he looks up, he sees Gallagher standing next to him and almost runs.

He’s dressed as impeccably as always in a button up, tie, slacks, and vest. His oxfords are spotless and shiny and an umbrella- William the third? Fourth? - is resting in his right hand. In his left is a familiar square of fabric, folded neatly and held against his agal.

He holds them out politely with a smile. “I saw these in the room and thought you might want them.” He says, every bit the gentleman he plays in the ring. For some reason, Ariya’s mind conjures the memory of losing the I Forfeit match.

He takes them wordlessly, expecting for Gallagher to leave after that. As he’s positioning his keffiyeh over his sleep-matted hair, he realizes that Gallagher is still standing there neatly. He looks up at him with as much displeasure as he can offer, though he imagines the effect is undermined by the blush settled across his cheeks. “Can I help you?” His voice is more unsteady than he’d like, but he’ll be damned if he breaks eye contact first.

Gallagher slides gracefully into the chair across from Ariya, hooking the umbrella on the edge of the table. He rests his forearms on the edge in front of him, clasping his hands together. Ariya suddenly becomes very interested in his agal.

“Is it really that displeasing to wake up next to me, Mr. Daivari?” He asks, his voice soft. There’s a twinkle in the depths of his eyes, stirring something that Ariya doesn’t want to identify deep in his chest.

Ariya manages a sneer, but it feels weak, unconvincing, even to him. He looks down at the trails of coffee staining his mug, tracing the rim with his finger. Gallagher’s still looking at him, probably expecting a verbal answer.

Ariya doesn’t trust his voice enough to give him one.

Gallagher sighs as he realizes that Ariya isn’t going to answer. “The tow truck should be coming to get us in an hour. Might I suggest you return to the room and get dressed?” He asks, raising an orange eyebrow starkly.

Ariya stands silently, placing his mug on the dirty dish rack and tossing his apple core. His stomach feels even worse than it had before. He makes his way to the room, aware of Gallagher’s eyes pressed to his bare back.

He gathers a change of clothes from his bag and locks himself in the bathroom. He forgoes showering and changes quickly before taking a deep breath. He splashes frigid water against his face, hoping it will snap him out of what this is.

All it does is leave his face cold and wet.

He stays in the bathroom until he hears Tony pounding on the door, telling him to ‘hurry his pretty little ass up’. He washes his hands again and exists, looking way more put together than he feels.

They get the cars fixed and then they’re on the road again. Gallagher insists on driving with Ariya, who had driven the previous stretch in slightly uncomfortable yet companionable silence with Neville. He’s driving, his knuckles going white around the steering wheel. He feels like a bowstring pulled taut, about to snap the moment Gallagher opens his mouth.

Surprisingly, he stays quiet for almost an hour before he can’t contain it anymore. Ariya feels Gallagher’s eyes on him more than he can see them, but it burns like a brand against his neck.

“I’m terribly sorry if I made you uncomfortable this morning, Mr. Daivari.” Gallagher says softly, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ariya tightens his grip on the steering wheel and focuses on the road ahead of him. His jaw is feeling tight in the worst way, and he knows that he’s going to regret the way he’s grinding his teeth.

Gallagher keeps talking. “It was not my intention. I’m apparently a bit of a…what did Mustafa call it… a ‘cuddle hog’.” The words sound wonderful in Gallagher’s accent, Ariya notes absently. He feels a cramp building in his hand from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel like his life depends on it.

He feels like he’s floating, like he’s an outsider in his own body. His reactions don’t feel like his- the way his heart is pounding, the way his blood burns like dry ice, the way his ribcage feels like a cage that keeps getting smaller. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. His keffiyeh is starting to feel hot, like it’s choking him. He’s both thankful for and regretting the fact that his shirt is unbuttoned. It’s lessening the choking feeling, but it’s revealing the blush settles across his chest.

He feels hot and cold at the same time, like there’s ice settled across his skin for too long. Gallagher’s still talking, but it’s falling on deaf ears. Ariya’s too wrapped up in his own head to pay attention to anything other than his own internal dilemma and the highway spilling out in front of him.

After several minutes of hearing Gallagher’s voice but not his words, Ariya pulls onto the shoulder of the highway. He drops his head in his hands, his elbows rested against the leather of the steering wheel. The seam of the leather is pressing into his forearms, but he can’t be bothered to care. He’s unbuckled his seatbelt, but he still can’t breathe, still feels locked against his seat.

Gallagher’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he’ll deny till his dying breath the shiver that racked down his spine.

“Are you okay, Mr. Daivari?” Gallagher’s voice is soft, pressed against his ear as he leans in to check on the younger man. Ariya turns to offer a glare, but his face falls pliant, eyes wide and mouth fallen open, when he sees Gallagher’s face.

His brow is furrowed in concern, and his lips are pursed. His mustache is just barely crooked, hardly noticeable unless you’re looking at it closely. There’s a flush to his cheeks, his pupils blown a little wide against the brown of his eyes. His breath is puffing, warm and a little wet, against Ariya’s cheeks.

Ariya can’t stop himself from leaning in.

He’s never kissed a man before, and he can’t help but wonder why he’s waited until now. Gallagher’s lips are soft and pliant under his own, parted just barely enough. His mustache is pressed to Ariya’s lip, tickling the underside of his nose. He relaxes into the kiss, allowing Ariya to set the pace.

The kiss lasts barely longer than a second before Ariya’s pulling away, his back slamming into the seat. His knee hurts from where it had been jammed into the center console, but he doesn’t care because his lips are slick with saliva and he can still taste Gallagher on his lips, mint and cream filled tea. He can still smell him, something like mahogany and sandalwood and subtle cologne filling his nostrils.

They sit in slightly uncomfortable silence, a sort of tangible tension that feels like it’s crushing Ariya’s lungs. It’s broken by Gallagher unclipping his seatbelt, leaning over the center console in one long, languid motion. He cups Ariya’s face within his hands, his thumb fluttering against Ariya’s lips. He leans in, rests their foreheads together. It’s intimate in a way that Ariya has never felt before, and his heart has migrated to sit between his kidneys.

“Is this okay, Mr. Daivari?” Gallagher asks, his breath a soft puff against Ariya’s lips. He nods, not trusting his voice. Gallagher leans in, presses their lips together, hands still framing Ariya’s face, holding him in place.

There’s a subtle trace of tongue against the seam of Ariya’s lips, and he gasps, a heady feeling falling over his body. Gallagher slowly lets his tongue slip into Ariya’s mouth, cautious, like he doesn’t want to scare Ariya.

Ariya snaps out of his stupor and presses forward, hands coming to tangle in Gallagher’s perfectly styled hair. He takes control of the kiss, biting the older man’s lower lip softly. He swallows the breathy sound Gallagher makes in the back of his throat, practically climbing over the center console to get a better angle.

Gallagher groans when Ariya’s tongue slips against the back of his teeth, trying to memorize every ridge he can find. Ariya is chasing the taste of Gallagher’s toothpaste, his tea, of the muffin he ate for breakfast. There’s something else hidden there, buried underneath everything else, something unidentifiably _Jack._

Ariya wants more.

Jack slowly pulls away, and Ariya’s heart skips a beat. His lips are slightly swollen and slick with saliva, bitten a red that matches the flush on his cheeks. His pupils are blown wide, eyes half lidded. His hair is mussed from Ariya’s fingers, which are still buried at the base of his skull. He’s breathing heavily, and Ariya can feel the hammer of his pulse under the meat of his palms.

“As much as I enjoy this,” He pants, pulling slightly against the impeccable knot of his tie, “I think we should continue onwards to the hotel.” His voice is a little wrecked, lower, rougher than normal. There’s a jolt in Ariya’s stomach.

They make the rest of the three hour drive in under 2, Ariya’s hand spread against Jack’s thigh the entire time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tonyknees on tumblr! Come bug me!


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